


Special Snowflake

by writesstuff



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, alludes to sex but no sex, i'm shit i know, prompt, sort of in stiles pov but not really, stiles is a half wolf, stilespadapuppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writesstuff/pseuds/writesstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve never heard of a half-werewolf,” Derek shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not—whatever you want to think, I guess.”</p><p>“I’m a special snowflake. You have to call me Snowflake now, okay, Sourwolf?” He grinned as Derek covered his face and badly hid a snort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Special Snowflake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stilespadapuppy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=stilespadapuppy).



> Prompt: stiles and derek exchange so much body fluids that stiles gets increased senses. he panics, thinking that derek must have bitten him during sex and turned him into a werewolf, and derek has to explain to him that no, he just has some wolf cells in him that his body wouldn't fight to expell. stiles is a half-werewolf now, without the wolfing out part, which he considers an advantage
> 
> Again, I don't know. I don't know if it was supposed to be angsty, or serious, but I mostly can't write angst so...yay happy times? idk

Waking up sore was probably one of Stiles’ favourite things. Well, waking up sore from a specific reason. Waking up sore from being beaten by some big-bad was never great. Waking up sore from having brilliant, _brilliant_ sex with Derek, was. He stretched as best he could, could feel his muscles pull and his bones crack as he stretched and rolled around his bed.

He let his eyes close because he could smell coffee, and hear Derek downstairs frying something—it smelled an awful lot like bacon. Once he rolled around the bed once more, he had to stop and listen.

Yes, he could still hear Derek cooking, but he could also hear a steady thumping rhythm, and the ticking from his dad’s clock. Sitting up, he looked around the room, took in the too bright of the blue paint, and the smell coming from his hamper was disgusting.

Shaking himself, he looked around the room and scratched at his come covered belly. “Gross.” His nose twitched as he fell out of bed and continued looking around. He shouldn’t be able to hear, or smell, the things he was, and since when did his room’s walls hurt his eyes?

Letting out a whimper, he tried to recall the night before. While yes, it was fantastic sex and he definitely wanted a repeat, his hand found his neck and he winced at the tender flesh beneath the pad of his finger. “Shit. Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit.” He scratched at his stomach until the flaking come was gone, pulled on a shirt and pair of pants and ran. More specifically, he crawled out of his window (ignoring the still frantic thought of ‘if I fall I will die!’) and ran as fast and far as he could.

It was about five blocks until he got a stitch in his side and he had to slow to a walk.

He didn’t know why he ran. In hindsight, he should have probably stuck around to demand that Derek tell him why he bit him. So he panicked, sue him.

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he groaned as loudly and as long as he could, because he was suffering.

The sounds alone were driving him insane. He could hear his neighbours doing whatever it was they did— _one of the houses he passed had a couple having sex_! He did _not_ need to know how Mrs. Finklestien sounded during sex, thank you very much. Good for them for having a sex drive, but he _didn’t need to know_.

The smells, oh _God_ the smells. He knows he’s twitchy—and that’s another thing—he forgot his medication! Damnit! Anyways, he knows he’s twitchy, but the smells. He swears he doesn’t twitch this much, not even after missing a dosage, or taking too much. He really doesn’t. He can smell that compost. It is not pleasant. It’s also very close to catching fire, if the heat he can smell from it is anything to go by.

Wait. Now he’s smelling _heat_? Great, fucking great. His groan returns and it’s even more frustrated than before. He’s clutching at his head as he walks.

Not for the first time, he’s glad the town isn’t a bustling city, or he’d have gone on a rampage of pure agony.

What does that mean? Well, it means that if it were, there would be multitudes of people, cars, and smog if he were honest. He would be so overwhelmed, that the only way Derek would catch him is if the local news team did a ‘breaking news’ coverage, showing a wolfed out Stiles wreaking havoc on Beacon Hills.

He stops at a corner and all but collapses onto his ass. He really should go back home. Go home, while covering his ears, squinting, and covering his nose like a crazy person, but go home all the same. He sighs as he falls back and stares at the sky. The beautifully blue, clear, free of smog, sky.

“Maybe if I pinch myself, I’ll wake up…” he mumbled, but made no move to do so. He made no move to do anything except cover his ears as best he could.

After another ten minutes, there’s a car’s engine and it’s stopped in front of him. He can smell Derek with the lingering smell of breakfast and coffee, can hear that same thumping rhythm (except it is accelerated now), can hear footsteps come to a stop by him.

“Stiles. What the hell?” He pulls Stiles up and pries his hands from his ears. “What are you—why…?” Derek stops himself, takes a breath, and gives Stiles the biggest bitch face he has ever seen on Derek’s face. “One, why did you run away from your house? Two, did you really climb out your window? And three, what is the matter?” His tone softened as each question was asked.

Stiles opened and closed his mouth, opened it again and let out a whine. “Why’d you bite me?”

Derek froze momentarily. “What?”

Stiles motioned to his neck, showing the mark with a dramatic fling of his arm. “This—you bit me! I’m hearing shit I shouldn’t be! I smell things! _I heard Mrs. Finklestien having sex_!” he screeches that bit, because it’s traumatic and if he has to live with hearing it, Derek can suck it up and hear him sound like a Banshee.

Derek examines his neck, all the while looking annoyed. “I didn’t…well I did, I did bite you, but I didn’t _turn_ you, you idiot.”

“What?” Stiles glares at him, but the effect is lost because he’s an adorable person naturally, and can’t really pull off anger as well as he’d like. He’s learned to accept it, but that doesn’t mean he’s not working on it.

He is damnit.

“Get in the car, and I’ll explain over breakfast.” Derek lets him go and goes to his side of the Camero. Stiles follows suit and soon enough—he’s sure Derek would get a ticket if any cops were around, really—they’re at his house again and eating breakfast.

Derek takes a drink of his coffee and ponders how he should explain it. Stiles is too busy wolfing—pun intended—down the delicious breakfast Derek prepared.

“So, you bit me.” Derek said calmly.

Stiles chokes on the sip of orange juice he takes.

“Enough to draw blood,” Derek continues. “I had kissed you earlier last night, hard enough to nick your lip and leave an open wound.”

Stiles got his breathing under control enough to exclaim, “What, so you gave me werewolf AIDs, or something?” Derek gave him a deadpan look. “Sorry.”

“Add in that, to the unprotected sex, the biting and scratching,” he pauses briefly, “The rubbing come into your skin…and you’ve got werewolf cells in you, that your body—rather than fighting and destroying the gene—accepted enough for you to have the same abilities as me.”

“Same…so it’s like osmosis, or something?” Stiles put his fork down and framed his face as he thought. “Same abilities—does that mean like…healing, and turning, too? Because, I can smell and hear things that I shouldn’t—like your heartbeat.”

“Did you turn at all while having that freak out earlier?” Derek asked, his eyebrows rose in mocking.

Stiles glared at him but shook his head. “Should I realize I do it, or is it more natural?”

“It’s your bones reconstructing. There would be some discomfort.”

“Then no.” Stiles looked down at his knife and frowned thoughtfully. “If I try to cut myself to see if I heal, will you bring me to the hospital if it doesn’t?”

“You’re not cutting yourself!”

“It’s just to test to see if I have healing abilities!” Stiles replied as he waved around the knife. “Like…okay, you do it—just a little nick and that’ll be that—if it heals, great, if not then you can get me a band-aid!”

Derek let out a long sigh as he rubbed his face. “Stiles, please.”

“No, this could be awesome! If I could heal and have all that added strength and senses, I could totally help more!” He lowered the knife and stared at it intently. After a long moment of neither of them moving, he put the knife down and sighed dramatically. “I can’t. I can’t do that—I’m a wimp, I know, don’t judge me,” he dropped his head back and sighed.

“Just—what about the nick on your lip? Is it still there? Still sore?” Derek tried when Stiles didn’t move from his moping position.

Stiles ran his tongue over his lower lip and shook his head. “Completely gone.” He stopped, sat up and excitedly waved his hands about. “It’s completely gone! I can heal!” He nearly toppled off his chair from the excited shaking he was doing.

“You can heal minor wounds. Let’s not test for major wounds, yeah?” Derek stood and went to the sink to wash his dishes.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Stiles continued eating as he looked at his hand. “Woulda been cool if I could grow claws though,” he said thoughtfully. “No more struggling to open packages and things—just a quick _fwip_ and I got my own version of a box cutter.” He clawed at the air, towards Derek. He mockingly gnashed his teeth in a fake snarl.

“Stop talking,” Derek said, but Stiles could hear the small huff of laughter.

“Could totally live without turning, too.” He touches his own cheek and makes a face. “First of all—I want to keep my eyebrows, thanks, and two—so awkward with the forehead-nose bridge-thing.”

“No, really, stop talking.”

“This is freaking awesome,” Stiles concluded. “All the benefits of a werewolf, without the hassle of freaking some random person out by accidentally turning,” he said with a nod of his head. “Hey, what does this make me, though? I can’t say I’m completely human anymore, right? Can I? Am I half a werewolf? How does that work?”

“What do you want to be called?” Derek asked as he cleared Stiles’ plate and cup away.

“I don’t know. Being a half-werewolf sounds cool.”

“Then you’re a half-werewolf.”

“Am I the first?” he turned in his seat to give Derek his undivided attention.

“I’ve never heard of a half-werewolf,” Derek shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not—whatever you want to think, I guess.”

“I’m a special snowflake. You have to call me Snowflake now, okay, Sourwolf?” He grinned as Derek covered his face and badly hid a snort.


End file.
